Monday, March 27, 2006

Dolores Responds

My gracious host and employer has given me permission to touch the Sacred Macintosh today on two conditions: that I put out my ciggies and keep liquids away from the keyboard. Right on, chief.

My mail has been piling up, so I'm here to answer it. If you ask me, it's a little early in the day for a lady to be out of her boudoir and dealing with the public, but if I don't get some of these questions out of the way now I'm going to be late for my massage.

Q. I notice you always seem to have a cigarette hanging out of your mouth. Isn't it tough to get the smoke odor out of your fleece?

You should get a whiff of my relatives. They should be so lucky as to smell like a nice, fragrant Pall Mall on a spring morning.

Q. Were you offended when Franklin referred to sheep as "fluffy, grass munching poop machines?"

As a lifelong practioner of Taoism, I find I can only pity the anger at the core of Franklin's being. It causes him to act out in this way. As Lao-tzu said to Confucius, "Put away your proud air and many desires, your insinuating habit and wild will. They are of no advantage to you; this is all I have to tell you."

Q. I notice that in one of your photographs you're wearing a red bow and purple glasses. Are you a member of the Red Hat Society?

Please consult your nearest English dictionary for the definitions of "bow" and "hat" and you may be shocked at what you learn.

Q. You are so mean. What did Elizabeth Taylor ever do to you? You are just a bitter old sheep living on somebody else's nickel and she is a beautiful, beloved legend whose fame and beauty will never fade.

Liz, I'm banning your IP address so don't bother trying to write anonymously again. It's not my fault that I turned out to be right about Eddie Fisher. Get a life, honey.

Q. Since you're living with Franklin, are you in a position to tell us anything juicy and revealing about his personal habits?

How long have you got? We could start with the way he sometimes pretends to be Cokie Roberts while he's listening to "Morning Edition" on NPR in the mornings. And then there was the time I walked in on him in the bathroom and he was singing Olivia Newton-John's "Please, Mister, Please" in front of the mirror using his beard trimmer as a microphone. I would tell you about what he keeps in the little box under the night table, but it's time to move on to the next question.

Q. Where are you from originally? Can you tell us something about your early life?

I was born on a small, rather exclusive sheep farm in a lovely corner of Vermont to Mr. and Mrs. Harold Van Hoofen. I have far too many siblings to name, and as I don't speak to most of them anyhow it doesn't matter. I was always a little different from the other sheep, and from an early age preferred curling up in the barn with a dog-eared copy of Euripides to running around the fields rolling in my own excrement. Call me a rebel.

Q. I, too, am a student of the classics. I consulted the Columbia University library about getting a copy of your doctoral dissertation on the Oresteia of Aeschylus, and they were most unhelpful. Would you send it to me?

I would love to, but my only copy is currently in the possession of Professor Eugenica Doxiades of the Faculty of Ancient Literatures at the University of Athens. Ask me again in six months, I figure she'll have finished plagiarizing all the good parts by then.

Q. Are you dating anybody? What happened to Emilio?

Emilio who? No, I don't have a steady beau. There's just too much good ploughing in Chicago for a girl to stick to one acre, if you know what I mean.

Q. I love you. Will you marry me? I enclose a picture of myself. In the event of a favorable reply, I stand ready to relocate from Manitoba to Chicago.

As I stated in answer to the previous question, I'm not looking to settle down any time soon. However, if you wish to become a stalker, I am sending an application by return of post. Thank you for your kind inquiry. (P.S. What would your mother think if she saw this picture of you, you filthy pervert?)

Okay, enough of this. Mama's gotta make herself pretty for the world at large.

27 comments:

I cannot imagine you joining a group, i.e. The Red Hat Society, to affirm your place in this world. Plough your fields with grace and be sure to send a cowboy with a note of your last location so that Franklin need not fret when you don't appear in the morning.

Dolores..try dusting yourself with "Fullers Earth" now and again I believe it is great for cleaning errrr...ahem....sheepskin coats ( not that I know anyone with one of course.Hols.P.S keep up the organo-phosphate showers as I am sure Franklin doesn't want nasty ticks in his place .

How very kind of Mr. Habit to allow you to use the "sacred Mac" -We shall all send him a card of thanks and a small suggestion that he provide you with your own machine for communicating with your growing fan base. I agree wholeheartedly with abermoggie - you are the ideal person to take Franklin's place if he decides a vacation is in order.

Hey, Franklin, I just remembered something. When I was in Chicago last weekend, you were going to take me to a yarn store and attempt to teach me how to knit. With all the excitement of getting kicked out of AI due to Ms. D, we completely forgot. We'll have to do that next time for sure.

Dolores, Could you please deliver this message to Franklin? Franklin, I finally got around to listening to your guest podcast for Cast-On. Your voice is just as soothing as Brenda's. I really enjoyed your podcast. I loved Christopher's essay on why he doesn't knit. I love it so much I wonder why others don't. I guess that's one reason why. Please start your own podcast!

In addition to your expertise in the classics, I imagine you're also rather an authority on wool-related matters. Does Franklin ever come to you for advice about his knitting and spinning? What do you tell him?

I have been reading this blog since I heard Franklin's first essay for Cast-On before Christmas. Not that I normally follow mellow-voiced knitters home - does that reassure you or not? And now Dolores has driven me to comment. She reminds me of the ewes of my youth (I grew up on a sheep farm in Italy) who used to break into the Vin Santo vineyard every autumn to get to the fermenting grapes before we could... Did she ever holiday in Tuscany in the 80s? If so Mama Tosca says hello and wishes to send photographs of all seventeen of her lambs (yes, we called the Bellwether Tosca. Yes. there is a story behind that).

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